


Homophobic Ghost Drives Out Lesbians

by sydneygremlins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agender Castiel, Agender Character, Case Fic, Castiel is Agender, Crack, Dean is a disaster, Dean’s Repressed!, Emotionally Repressed Dean Winchester, Fluff, Genderqueer Castiel, Genderqueer Character, Getting Together, Ghosts, Humour, Incredibly Self-Indulgent, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other, Sam Ships It, Sam is also enby but it didnt make it into the fic, Semi-Crack, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Well - Freeform, a ghost - Freeform, bed sharing, did i mention SELF INDULGENT, no ties to canon, not the focus of the fic tho vsdhgjkdshgf, pretty much, something abt tagging fics is SO fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydneygremlins/pseuds/sydneygremlins
Summary: there’s a tumblr post that goes something like this [newspaper headline: homophobic ghost drives out lesbians] “next week on supernatural!” and i couldn’t resist!i wrote this in two days, partially when i was definitely meant to be sleeping and partially when i probably should’ve been outside enjoying the lovely sunshine.anyway! a case fic, with shipper!sammy, dean being Repressed ™️, cas pining, and also a bed sharing trope thrown in because why the fuck not?[this has, like, no ties to canon because i’m still on season 4 lmao. the only characters mentioned are sam, dean and cas and the only plot-significant aspect is the men of letters bunker. thats it, though. so, fellow people who have been sucked into the supernatural brainrot and have not watched the show prior to nov 5 and veterans alike can enjoy this mess]come read my madness! it will be fun
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	Homophobic Ghost Drives Out Lesbians

**Author's Note:**

> slight warning for use of the word ‘queer’ once, dean thinks it in reference to himself, as well as a warning for brief description of (ghost-related) hate crime. be careful, friends <3
> 
> as always, i hope you enjoy! have fun, i’ll see u at the end notes :P
> 
> if u know me irl and u read this, no u didn’t <3

“Hey, I think I’ve got a case,” Sam says over breakfast one morning, bent over his laptop at the dining table. Dean sits opposite him. Cas is nowhere to be seen.

Dean swallows his mouthful of scrambled eggs. “Yeah?”

Sam scrolls on his laptop, nodding as he does so. “Yep. In Lincoln.” The next thing he reads from his screen, so Dean guesses he’s looking at an article. “‘New tenants commit suicide.’”

Dean raises his eyebrows. Sam keeps reading.

“‘McKenna Davidson and Andy O’Reilly died last Friday in the home that they shared. Officials say that all the doors and windows to the house were locked and there was no sign of forced entry, so it had been concluded that they comitted suicide.’” Sam is skimming now, “Family has been contacted… house is for sale, et cetera, uhhhh– Oh, here. Says they ‘appear to have poisoned themselves, though it is yet unclear what with. They will be missed.’ I dunno. Might be a case?”

“Yeah, or it might just be a normal suicide,” Dean says, gesturing with his fork.

Sam shakes his head. “No, I checked. All their friends say Andy and McKenna were happy together. And only McKenna had any history of mental health problems, and she’d been seeing a therapist for years before this. I don’t think it was a suicide.”

One thing that Sam said catches Dean’s attention. “Together?” he frowns. “As in dating?”

“Yeah. The article, uh, neglected to mention it, but they were girlfriends.”

Dean pauses. “Girlfriends?”

Sam makes an expression that says,  _ uh, yeah? _ , and then he actually says, “Uh, yeah?”

Dean lifts his free hand up in a gesture of surrender. “Jeez. I ain’t got a problem with that. Just thought that Andy was a dude. ‘Cause, y’know, Andy is a dude’s name.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “First of all, Dean, names aren’t inherently one gender or another. If a girl is named Tom, then that’s a girl’s name, because its owner is a girl. Names aren’t indicative of gender. Secondly, as I was saying: I called their family and friends, and, well, the family didn’t seem to care that their kid was dead, but their friends did. They said McKenna and Andy had just moved in together and were gonna open a flower shop before it happened.”

Dean snorts.

“What?”

“Nothing, just– flower shop.”

Sam gives Dean the weirdest look, then, “Whatever, man.”

Dean tries to get some stubborn eggs onto his fork, and ends up chasing them around the plate.

“So?” Sam says after a moment’s silence.

“...So?” Dean repeats, not following.

“D’you think it’s worth checking out?”

“Sure. Should we bring Cas?” Dean is secretly hoping Sam’ll say no, because having Cas with them is  _ so _ fucking distracting for a plethora of reasons, but it would be weird not to bring it up, right?

Sam shrugs. “I dunno. Go ask him yourself. I’m gonna make sure our stuff in the car is properly stocked, if it’s a real haunting.”

Dean makes a noise of affirmation around his eggs. Sam shuts his laptop lid with a  _ click _ , puts his plate in the sink, then leaves.

~~~

“Hey, Cas, buddy? You in there?” Dean asks, knocking softly on Cas’ door.

“Yes,” Cas says from inside. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean opens the door to find Castiel sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes closed, fully clothed, trench coat and all. His head is tilted to the ceiling. He looks like he’s praying, but his hands are folded neatly in his lap, not steepled.

“Uhhhh,” Dean says, feeling like he’s intruding, even though Cas invited him in.

Cas opens his eyes slowly. “Hello, Dean.”

“Heya. Uh, Sammy has a case,” Dean says, scratching the back of his neck, “Haunting or something. You wanna come?”

Cas stands up immediately. “Okay.”

“Uh, we’re going this evening.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallows and smiles awkwardly, then makes to leave. Cas follows him into the hallway, muttering something about wanting to read a specific book.

Once he’s out of Cas’ sight, Dean sighs and flutters his hands.

~~~

The drive is fairly short, compared to others that Dean’s been on, but for some reason the three-ish hours seem to stretch on for ages, since, for some unknown reason, probably due to Sammy daring him or something, Cas is riding shotgun. It’s  _ really _ distracting, but Dean can’t just  _ say that _ , because the reason it’s distracting is ‘cause he’s  _ hopelessly in love  _ with Cas. Yay.

He keeps his mouth shut, and the landscape keeps whirring by outside the Impala’s windows.

~~~

It’s sunset by the time they reach Lincoln, and truly dark once they get to the specific house. Parking is a breeze, thankfully. 

The house is bordered off with yellow  _ Police Line Do Not Cross! _ tape on the low hedges that serve as fences (there is no gate to be seen), but Dean’s been walking under that kind of tape since his age was just the one digit, and he ain’t stopping any time soon.

The house is big, airy, with plenty of space, tall ceilings, nice rugs. Dean can see why the couple moved in– it’s properly furnished, homey as a house that hasn’t really been lived in for a while can get, and it’s got big arching doorways and, from what he can tell, an enormous backyard. He’s willing to bet it’s got a great colour scheme, too, but he can’t really tell in the dark. Too bad they died in it. It woulda made a great place to live.

After a quiet discussion, Dean, Sam and Cas decide to split up to scope out the area, which is a good idea, but it only lasts for about two minutes. Cas ends up trailing after Dean once they run into each other after walking through what is functionally a circle of interconnected rooms. They walk down shadowy-blue hallways illuminated only by their flashlights, checking each room with a head poked through the already-open door and a waving-around of their EMF meters.

Contrary to all the others, they find a closed door at the end of one of the hallways upstairs. Dean looks at Cas. Cas stares right back, usually bright blue eyes melting into the shadows of the rest of his face.

“Should we–?” Dean asks quietly, gesturing to the door.

Cas nods, quietly determined. Dean tries  _ not _ to think about what other things that persistent focus could be aimed at, such as certain types of physical conta–

He cuts the thought off with a violent twitch of his face. “Okay. Let’s go,” he mutters, and he opens the door.

The EMF meter, which has been mostly silent up to this point, starts pinging like crazy the moment the door swings open.

“Jackpot,” Dean announces triumphantly, before his vision goes sideways and all the air is forced out of his lungs.

He’s pretty sure he blacks out for a second, because he only hears the tail end of some pretty vicious wind and an odd, sickening, numb feeling in his hands and face. He realises he’s been pinned to the wall by some unseen force that restricts his breathing and his movement. He can see what he assumes is Cas’ figure on the wall opposite.

“Cas?” he calls thickly around the putty-like feeling in his cheeks.

“I’m right here, Dean,” Cas says, voice sounding similarly impaired.

A putrid, sickly-sweet smell that Dean identifies as rotting flesh (he hates that he knows what that smells like) seeps into the room, thick in his mouth. Ew. Dean scrunches up his nose, breathes as shallow as he can, and reaches for his gun that’s loaded with salt rounds. 

Nothing.

Panic rises in his chest.

His holster is empty– the gun must’ve been tossed out of it when the spirit shoved him against the wall.

“You did this knowing the risks!” A voice spits, hoarse and hissing, and Dean is confused for only half a second before he realises it’s the spirit. He looks around frantically to see if it’s manifested physically. 

“You know what has to be done, children, for this disgusting behaviour,” the spirit says, and Dean sees its raggedy, translucent form by the window. “You are unnatural. A sin.”

Dean struggles against his invisible bonds.

He can’t very well speak to Cas, though, because the smell of rotting meat is getting stronger and he’s  _ this _ close to gagging. His face is growing even more numb by the second.

A great big fearful hole has opened in his chest, gaping and hollow.  _ What the fuck do I do? _

Thankfully, and not a moment too soon, the door bursts open, and all six and a half feet of Dean’s baby brother comes rushing in, holding a glinting metal object that Dean assumes is a silver cross in one hand and a gun loaded with salt in the other. He fires at the figure by the window and yells something in Latin.

The spirit hisses angrily, then vanishes, and Dean and Cas fall to the floor with two heavy thuds. The rotting smell recedes.

“Dean? Cas? You guys okay?” Sam asks, hovering in the middle of the room like he’s not sure who to check on first.

“I’m fine,” Cas assures Sam with a weak voice.

Dean gives him an exhausted thumbs-up and slumps down, trying to catch his breath back.

“The spirit was talking about sin,” Cas informs Sam.

“Oh?”

Cas recounts what the spirit said while Dean breathes heavily. Eventually he stands, finds his gun and re-holsters it.

“So, typical salt and burn? Some imprint of a homophobe long past?” Dean asks Sammy.

“Yeah, looks like it. I think I need to do more research, let’s crash at a motel tonight.”

“Cool,” Dean says. Sam practically charges through the door into the hall and Dean makes a beeline to follow him, ‘cause he’s not too keen to be left alone to the mercy of the spirit again.

Cas catches up with him. “Are you alright, Dean? That was quite a physically challenging situation.”

He means nothing by it, but the last few words make Dean flush at the sheer amount of possible, ahem,  _ situations _ , it could be used to refer to, and he’s quite glad for the darkness of the hallway. “I’m fine.”

Cas nods and they continue through the shadowy house.

“Fuck,” Dean hisses under his breath once Cas can’t hear him.

~~~

They drive a little way out of town to a motel: a crappy, backwater one with a sputtering neon sign outside and only a handful of rooms inside. A disaffected twenty-something with bright blue streaks in her hair sits at the reception desk.

“Hi, could we get one room with two singles and one with a queen?” Dean asks her.

She picks at her nails and surveys them disinterestedly. She opens a book sitting on the desk that Dean can safely assume is a log of the customers.

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding very sorry at all, “We only have one with two singles left.”

Which is weird, because a tiny little motel in the middle of nowhere shouldn’t be so crowded. And also, Dean doesn’t feel like sharing a bed or sleeping on a couch tonight. Apparently Dean’s expression shows that he’s thinking this, and the receptionist adds, “Others are under renovation.”

Dean nods.

“So. Two singles work for you?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam tells her, and Dean is glad to not be in charge of the interaction anymore. He lets Sam take the lead from there.

They sign fake names and burner phone numbers when the receptionist presents them with the log and Sammy thanks her when she hands them the key to their room.

It’s a typical motel room: two beds, a table, a TV, a bathroom, and a couch that is, sadly, too small to sleep on without waking up with a sore back, and if they’re going to be digging up a grave tomorrow, which is likely, Dean can’t afford to have a sore back.

He doesn’t bother showering, just falls into the bed that’s against the wall and calls it a night. Sammy and Cas can figure out their sleeping arrangements. Dean, after driving all morning and getting thrown against a wall a few hours ago, is pretty damn tired, so he intends to fall asleep right away. But Sam and Cas rustle around, share quiet snatches of conversation, and one of them runs the shower for a handful of minutes, which all amounts to Dean not being able to fall asleep.

Finally, blessedly, Cas bids Sam goodnight, and Dean thinks they’re sharing the other single, but then there are quiet footsteps approaching his bed.

“Dean?” Cas asks quietly.

Dean grumbles. Cas hovers, and even though Dean’s face is planted into the pillow he can  _ tell  _ that Cas is hovering. It’s pretty much tangible. 

“I need to sleep now that I’m no longer an angel, and Sam and I won’t fit on the one bed. I’m sorry. Could you move over a little?”

Dean flushes at the prospect of sharing a bed with Cas, and his skin downright fucking  _ tingles  _ and he’s pretty sure he’s got goosebumps, but he budges over anyway, shuffling until he hits his shoulder on the wall, which isn’t far.

Cas slips in next to him, which is basically right up against him because, again, it is a  _ tiny fucking bed  _ and is not big enough for two grown men who are both somewhere close to six feet tall. 

Dean likes to sleep making use of the entire pillow, which was fine when it was just him in the bed, but now he has a companion it’s not quite working out.

“Dean, could I have an end of the pillow, please?” Cas murmurs.

Sighing as he does, Dean relents, gives Cas his fair share of the pillow.

When alone in a bed, Dean usually sleeps with his face flat on the pillow and his arms either over the pillow or tucked underneath, hands somewhere in front of his head. That, of course, is difficult when Cas is sharing.

Cas sleeps on his back, and sharing the one pillow leads them to be contorted into a very, uh,  _ intimate, _ position. Dean’s chest is pressed against Cas’ side, chin tucked over his shoulder. He can feel Cas’ warm breath stirring the hair on the back of his neck, and the arm that Dean has awkwardly shoved underneath himself is gonna go numb soon, so unless he wants to  _ spoon _ , and he hates sleeping on his side, he needs to put his arm around Cas.

Dean keeps still for a few minutes, considering if it’s really worth it, adrenaline-fueled heart thudding in his ears. That won’t be conducive to falling asleep any time soon, he thinks idly.

Once Cas’ breathing has evened out and Dean is, like, ninety-nine percent sure he’s asleep, he shifts. Delicately, as non-weirdly as he can, he frees his arm from under him and slings it loosely around Cas’ midsection. He sighs involuntarily because,  _ damn _ , his arm feels so much better stretched out.

Cas makes a half-asleep noise of surprise that would best be described as a  _ mnh? _ , and Dean freezes. He’d kinda been counting on the cover of ‘Oh, it wasn’t intentional, must’ve just happened while we were asleep,’ to excuse his (quite blatant) cuddling.

But Cas doesn’t say a word. 

In fact, Cas, who Dean really, really thought was asleep by now, moves around for a moment, and eventually settles with one of his arms around Dean’s neck, hand resting on his shoulder.

Dean would whimper at all the hot feelings that well up in his chest at this, but he’s still hyper aware of the presence of his brother, and also doesn’t want to wake Cas up in the slim chance that he’s actually asleep, or, at the very least dozing deeply enough that he won’t remember this in the morning.

Dean has no choice but to relax into it if he wants to actually get to sleep himself, which he really does, so he resigns himself to his (oddly comfortable) fate.

_ This doesn’t change anything between us _ , Dean sternly tells himself.  _ We are just friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. Sharing a bed does  _ not  _ change anything. _

He at least takes the time to enjoy the sensation of Cas so close to him.

~~~

Dean wakes up in much the same position as he remembers falling asleep in. Thin, watery early-morning light filters through the closed blinds. Cas doesn’t seem to be awake yet. 

Dean appreciates for a moment the warm breath tickling his neck, the heavy hand on his upper arm, the slow movement of Cas’ chest, in and out, under his own hand, the solid warmth of the length of Cas’ body against his.

Then, as delicately as he can, Dean pulls himself out of Cas’ arms (the fact that he was in  _ Cas’ arms _ makes him shiver and want to flutter his hands, but he can’t just yet, because now he’s kinda trapped between Cas and the wall).

He slides back to the end of the bed and stands up, casts a glance back to Cas, all snuggled up in the blankets, then goes to shower.

The cold water is refreshing, and Dean scrubs at his skin and rinses his hair out with the soap bar the motel provided, trying to forget the comfort of last night, and trying not to think about how much he’d like to wake up like that again.

~~~

“So, get this,” Sam says that afternoon, after a morning of research, and Dean groans internally because he just  _ knows _ another lecture is coming up. He puts away his phone which he’d been playing games on.

“I looked into all the past owners of the house,” Sam announces. He picks up a printed file and pushes it across the table in their motel room which they’re all sitting around. Cas peers at it interestedly. “There have been a bunch, and some just moved out for whatever reason, but all the gay couples that have been in this house have died, all in the same way.”

Dean blanches. “Gay couples?”

Sam nods. “All the way back to the seventies, when the house was built, there’ve been deaths. Spaced out enough that nobody really noticed, and it’s a little rural town, so,” he shrugs, and Dean fills in the unspoken,  _ so nobody really cared about some random queers dying. _

Cas frowns. “How come you didn’t come across this in your initial research?”

Sam points at the papers in front of him. “None of the records are online, these are all scanned copies of the records in the archives. Again, gay couples in a rural town in the seventies, eighties, nineties, so, nobody really cared enough to look into it, even if they noticed the pattern, and even then the deaths didn’t ever make the papers that were eventually put online.”

Dean nods and scrubs a hand across the scruff on his jaw. “So who’s the spirit?”

Sam sifts through the pile of papers he’s accumulated and subsequently scattered across the table. “I  _ think _ it’s the original owner, Jordan Flavell. He was a pretty devout man, he ranked pretty high in the local church, and he had this son, right, who died after being poisoned similar to how everyone else has been, and so was this other boy about the same age as the son.”

“So you think that this Jordan dude, I dunno, walked in on his son doing it with some other guy and got mad ‘cause of religion and shit?”

“Well, judging by what Cas said that the spirit said, yeah.”

“Aight. Where’s he buried?”

“I think in the town cemetery. We can get there in about ten minutes in the Impala.”

“Awesome.” Dean stands up and stretches. Cas and Sam follow suit, they gather up Sam’s things, then file out the door and check out.

They get down to the parking lot, put Sam’s laptop and files in the trunk and pile in. Dean switches on the radio, not really seeing the point in putting anything specific on for such a short drive. Some poppy music filters through the speakers, bright and bubbly. Dean sighs and drums his fingers against the wheel as he gets the Impala onto the road proper.

“Y’know,” Sam pipes up a few minutes into the drive, “There’s still something that doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Yeah?” Dean says, eyes firmly on the road, praying that Sam isn’t about to say what he thinks he’s about to say.

“If the ghost only goes after gay people, why did it go after you and–”

“I dunno, and it don’t matter, Sammy,” Dean bites out, a bit harsher than he intended to be. He winces. “Sorry.”

Sam is frowning when Dean darts a look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Maybe the ghost just changed its mind about who it wants to murder or somethin’.”

“Or maybe all the flannel you wear confused it,” Sam responds mildly.

Dean laughs and pretends that he’s not deeply in love with Cas, which is probably why the ghost went after them. Yay?

On they drive.

~~~

Jordan Flavell is, thankfully, in a family crypt, which means no digging up graves for them tonight. Cas hovers by the door of the crypt, looking mildly uncomfortable with intruding on a place so intimate to the family, and obviously spiritually important.

“They’re all dead, Cas,” Dean assures him, multiple times. Sammy gives him a weird look each time.

Just another salt and burn, entirely routine. They stick around for a bit to make sure that the body is burnt, then drive back to the house to check that the spirit is properly gone.

This time, there’s no rotting stench, no wild pinging on their EMF meters, no phantom presences, nothing. They conclude that the spirit was, in fact, Jordan Flavell, and he’s been put to rest.

Dean doesn’t know that he’s ever been more reluctant to start the drive back home, before. Almost three hours of driving after very narrowly dodging a question about his sexuality, cooped up in the same car with the person who asked the question in the first place, doesn’t particularly appeal to him. He’s not too keen on staying in Lincoln, though, so on they go.

The prairie stretches on and on, flying past to the tune of some Led Zeppelin. Sam’s asleep in the passenger seat, somehow, and Cas is chilling in the back. Dean rolls open the windows at some point and enjoys the thrilling rush of cold air against his face as his favorite band blares through the speakers of his car. Now,  _ this _ is home– headlights illuminating the open road, rock music, wind in his hair and the stars hanging bright in the sky, his brother, his best friend.

His best friend. Who he’s also in love with.

The thought sours his mood a little, for reasons Dean can’t divine.

One and a half hours in, Cas, apparently, thinks that now is an appropriate time to interrupt  _ Ramble On _ with, “Dean, I think I may have formulated a possible explanation for–”

“Dude, if you say  _ anything  _ about the damn ghost, I’m kicking you outta the car and making you walk.”

Apparently, Sam wasn’t as asleep as Dean thought he was, because he snorts at Dean’s scathing response.

“What?” Dean snaps.

“I just… I don’t know why you’re being so touchy about it.”

“‘Cause, well, I’m not gay, man. I dunno why it went after us!”

Sam looks like he’s struggling to keep a straight face. “Maybe it mistook you and Cas for boyfriends.”

Dean splutters, and he can feel his face heat. “ _ Boyfriends?” _ he repeats incredulously. “I– We’re not  _ boyfriends. _ ”

“I said that it might’ve  _ mistaken  _ you for boyfriends, not that you  _ were _ ,” Sam responds calmly.

Dean scowls at the road in front of him.

Cas decides this is a perfectly appropriate moment to chime in. “As I was saying earlier, I think I’ve formulated a possible explanation as to why the ghost went after Dean and I.”

Dean rolls his eyes but lets Cas continue uninterrupted. What’s the worst that can happen?

“Perhaps the people who the ghost goes after don’t have to specifically be, uh, together, but have a romantic relationship, even if it’s unlabelled?”

Dean’s brain absolutely fucking  _ freezes. _ An all-too familiar hollow pain makes itself known in his stomach and he has to stop his hands from shaking. “Cas,” he says, as steadily as he can keep his voice, “What the fuck.”

Cas’ voice has an odd note to it as he says, “Sorry?”

“What do you mean by  _ romantic relationship? _ ” Dean demands.

Sam is restraining laughter. Dean glares at him. Thankfully, he shuts up.

What Cas says next is in such a neutral, matter-of-fact tone that it takes Dean a moment to register exactly what he’s just expressed. “I’m in love with you, Dean. I did think I’d adequately expressed that before this.”

Dean bluescreens, again. Cas loves him. Cas loves him. Cas  _ loves _ him?  _ What the fuck. _

His face is hot and his hands are trembling and, frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s bleeding out right now, because it really fucking feels like he is.

Wordlessly, he pulls the car over at the side of the road.

“Dean, what are you–” Sam begins to ask, but Dean silences him with a wave of his hand.

Then, silently, Dean crosses his arms on the wheel and lays his head down on them.  _ Jesus. Fuck. Jesus. Fuck. Jesus. Fu– _

“What’s he doing?” Sam mutters.

“I think he didn’t know,” Cas mutters back, concerned. “I don’t know how, though; I’ve said plenty of things to lead him to this as a reasonable conclusion.”

A minute or so ticks by silently.

“Should we try to, like, see if he’s okay?” Sam asks Cas.

“...I think he’s just processing.”

“Yeah, but I kinda wanna get home before sunrise.”

Another moment passes.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t ch–”

“I can  _ hear  _ you guys, you know,” Dean grumbles, lifting his head off the wheel. He probably has a red imprint on his forehead by now.

Sam smiles sheepishly. “Hi again, Dean.”

Dean makes assorted non-speech noises of annoyance and gets the car back on the road.

“How was your crisis, Dean?” Cas asks once they’re cruising along the asphalt again.

“Wh– I didn’t have a  _ crisis,  _ Cas.”

“What do you call what you just did, then, Dean?” Sam asks, and Dean can’t help but feel like Sam and Cas are teaming up on him on purpose.

“Uhhhh–”

“It was a crisis. Cas is right.”

“Fine! It was a crisis.”

“So, how was your crisis, Dean?” Cas asks again.

Dean groans. Then, when it becomes apparent that they’re still waiting for a response, says, “It was fine.”

Sam grins in the periphery of Dean’s vision. Dean scowls. “So, Dean, what exactly was your crisis about? Too homophobic to handle Cas being in love with you?”

Dean gapes. “Too. Too  _ what?  _ I’m not homoph–”

“I’m just teasing, man.”

Dean mutters some colourful insults under his breath.

“Anyway, we all know you love him t–”

“Sam!”

Sam grins again, positively devilish. “You do, though.”

“I’m not into dudes,” Dean grates out, not ready to have a tearful love confession or whatever shit will go down if he tells the truth right now.

“Sure you aren’t,” Sam laughs.

“If it helps, Dean, I’m not a, uh,  _ dude _ . I’m what humans might describe as agender.”

“...What?”

“I have no gender, at least not in the way humans understand it, even though I present as masculine due to the appearance of my vessel.”

Dean nods along, feeling a little detached and very tired.

“So,” Cas says, “I think that that’s why the spirit went after us.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dean turns the music up  _ loud _ after that.

~~~

Dean is, to put it frankly, not coping very well.

He is sitting on his bed, head in his hands, at somewhere near 3AM. They got home a good half-hour ago, but he can’t quite shake the weird feeling of knowing that his love for Castiel is requited.  _ Cas feels the  _ same _. _

He groans into his palms.

“Dean?” Cas says from outside his room, voice muffled by the closed door

Dean  _ so _ does not want to have to talk about feelings and shit. But, well, he has to. 

He takes a deep breath, then, “Come in, Cas.”

The door opens with a quiet click and Cas pads in. Dean notes the absence of the clicking of shoes, meaning Cas isn’t likely isn’t in his whole suit-trench-coat getup. 

He confirms his theory when he looks up: Cas is wearing a maroon tee and sweats, which looks odd on him, considering how infrequently he wears such casual clothing.

Cas’ expression is the one of quiet determination he holds so often, with a tinge of worry showing in the creases in his forehead.

“Are you okay, Dean?” he asks, voice gentle.

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but finds he can’t get anything out.

Cas hesitates for a moment, then places a hand on Dean’s back. “It’s alright, Dean. I’m here.”

And it’s that, those affectionate words of reassurance, that seem to be Dean’s breaking point, because it’s right then that sobs begin to claw their painful ways up his throat and that hot, stinging tears well up in his eyes.

Cas is there, though, with a steady hand on Dean’s back, and then, when that isn’t enough, he pulls Dean towards him into a proper hug. Dean scrabbles at his chest with sleep-clumsy hands, grabs fistfuls of his shirt.

“It’s alright, cry as much as you need,” Cas murmurs, with one hand on the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean does.

Eventually, Dean’s crying dies down to heavy breathing in the warm space between him and Castiel, then just trembling. Cas is still holding him.

“I– fuck, Cas, I love you too, man.”

Cas freezes, and Dean is afraid that he’s said something wrong, but when Cas pulls back to look at Dean, he’s smiling: watery, but beatific. 

He brings a hand up to Dean’s cheek and traces circles absently, face twitching as he, presumably, processes. Dean waits for him. 

“You love me,” Cas repeats finally, so quietly it’s barely a whisper.

“Yeah.”

Cas closes his eyes. His smile grows wider.

Then, gentle, exploratory, holding Dean’s jaw like he’s something to be treasured, Cas tilts Dean’s face up to meet his in a kiss.

It’s soft and warm and their stubble scratches and Dean could cry. He’s fairly sure he does, because then Cas is wiping away something on Dean’s cheek and Dean fucking  _ melts _ and he is  _ so _ glad he didn’t tell Cas to go away when he asked if he could come in.

He presses his face against Cas’ chest, wraps his arms around him, and breathes in the warmth radiating from his newly human body.

After a while, Cas says, “You know, Dean, I always– I always thought you didn’t. Feel the same, that is.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Cas’ chin brushes over Dean’s hair as he shakes his head. “It’s not your fault. You needed to– you needed to come to terms with your sexuality in your own time. I’m glad you got there in the end, though.”

Dean grins up at Cas. “Me too,” he says quietly.

Maybe homophobic ghosts aren’t so bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos + comments r much appreciated :)
> 
> i have other SPN and Doctor Who fic up on this account, so feel free to peruse that!
> 
> i can be found on tumblr @sydneygremlins, feel free to swing by <3


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